Four things to be proud of
by BlueVase
Summary: Trixie Franklin has four things she is proud of. When she sees Shelagh in those drab, ill-fitting suits, she simply has to employ one of them to help her friend. She didn't expect a shopping trip to teach her a bit more about herself, though. TW: none, I think.


**For Beatrix-Franklin, who asked me if I could write a fic from Trixie's POV. I couldn't help but sneak a bit of Turnadette in, though, so hope your OK with that ;).**

There were four things that Trixie Franklin took pride in.

The first was her skill in nursing. People looked at her, saw a pretty face, and assumed there was not much brain to go with that face. Trixie loved proving them wrong, but loved helping those in need even more. Whether it was something as monumental as helping a new life into the world, or something as simple as injecting insulin, there was no time she felt as alive and as useful as when she wore her uniform.

The second thing she was sure about was her dancing skills. When the music came on, she could move about the floor like a leave in the wind, just as quick and graceful.

The third thing was her fashion sense. Cynthia sometimes said that it seemed as if Trixie had a compass inside her that would inevitably point to the right dress, the right skirt, the right sweater. Trixie would laugh and say she just read the right magazines, but secretly, she was sure that her ability to match the right colour lipstick with a pair of new heels was just as much a talent as, say, being able to play the piano.

The last thing Trixie was proud of was her ability to match people. She instinctively knew when a guy was right for a girl, and would get a thrill if she managed to get them together.

Naturally, she was a little bit peeved when she found out about Doctor Turner and Sister Bernadette. It was all so terribly romantic, and she, who prided herself on her romantic instincts, hadn't noticed a thing, not even when she had visited the little nun in the sanatorium.

"Trixie, they kept it from everyone. _No one_ knew," Cynthia told her.

"But I should have! I always know!" she grumbled.

It wasn't so much that her sense of romance had failed her that upset her. No, it was that she hadn't been there for her friend when she was needed. What agony had Sister Bernadette gone through, all alone in that dreadful sanatorium, far away from the man she loved?

Well, no matter; if Trixie couldn't use her matchmaking skills, she could use one of her other talents to make it up to Shelagh.

For the moment, though, her first skill was not needed. Trixie had no doubt that there would be a Baby Turner in the future, but for the present, she would have to practice her nursing talents on someone else than the doctor's wife. Besides, even if Shelagh was expecting, she was a qualified midwife herself and had married a GP who had delivered his fair share of babies. They would be perfectly fine even without Trixie to assist them.

That left talent two and three. Though Trixie was curious to see if former Sister Bernadette could dance, she decided that what she really needed was a wardrobe update.

"I mean, those suits are awfully drab," she told Cynthia.

"I don't think Shelagh has had much time to think about her clothes, with Timothy being ill and the wedding and all that," Cynthia noted.

"No one can blame her not looking her best after that dreadful polio-business. And she was a nun, of course. I know," Trixie sighed. "Still, you would think that Doctor Turner might have made his preferences known."

"Maybe he likes those suits."

Trixie thought back on the shapeless porridge-coloured jumpers and psychedelic ties the doctor used to wear before his marriage and shivered. "Just because he has the fashion sense of a banana doesn't mean he approves of those horrible, ill-fitting suits. A man may not know a lot about fashion, but surely he can't prefer those frumpy suits to a well-cut dress. Besides, Mrs. Turner has a lovely figure. She's been hiding it underneath a habit for ten years; it is time she starts showing it off."

And with those words, an idea began to take form.

X

"You would look absolutely dazzling in this!" Trixie exclaimed as she held a pencil skirt in a soft pastel up for Shelagh to inspect.

"I don't know, Trixie," she said, and blushed a bit.

"I think it would look lovely, Shelagh," Cynthia added.

"You have to try it on at any rate," Trixie said, and steered Shelagh to the fitting rooms.

They had been shopping for clothes for the past two hours now, and Trixie had gathered quite a pile of things she thought would look nice on Shelagh. It had taken her days to arrange this shopping trip, and it wouldn't do for them to leave empty handed.

Shelagh did look a bit uneasy, but Trixie guessed that was only natural; the poor thing hadn't seen a clothing shop from the inside for ten years, and had not kept up with the latest fashions. Everyone would feel overwhelmed by the huge amounts of printed fabrics and colours and different cuts. That was why Trixie was making a bit of a selection for Shelagh to choose from. It was also why she had taken Cynthia along; not only was Cynthia one of her dearest friends, but she also had the wonderful talent to make people feel comfortable. Trixie knew she could be a bit, well, _much_ for people, especially when it came down to clothes. Cynthia would temper her and make sure she didn't push Shelagh into something the ex-nun didn't want.

"I… I don't think this would be appropriate," Shelagh murmured as she emerged from the fitting room clad in the pencil skirt.

Trixie gasped. Who would have known that the former Sister Bernadette had such shapely legs, such a pretty waist, and such a creamy skin? Granted, anyone could get pale skin if they covered themselves up for years, but still; Shelagh looked absolutely smashing.

"What are you talking about, silly? You look gorgeous!" Trixie squealed, and clapped her hands.

Shelagh blushed and didn't look them in the eye.

 _Did she avoid eye contact like that when she was still Sister Bernadette?_ Trixie wondered. The little nun had been sweet and a bit shy, but also surprisingly witty. Shelagh Turner, on the other hand, mainly seemed shy.

 _She's just trying to find her feet, that's all. And a good outfit will do wonders for her self-esteem,_ Trixie told herself.

"I think you look lovely, but if you're not comfortable in it, you shouldn't buy it. You won't wear it if you don't feel good in it," Cynthia said, and gave one of her customary sweet smiles.

"I bet Doctor Turner would like it, though," Trixie said.

"Trixie!" Cynthia gasped.

"Oh come on, Cynthia. We're talking to _Mrs._ Turner here, a married woman." She turned to Shelagh. "Now, you should never dress for a man, sweetie, but it can't hurt to take his wishes into account. Surely he has told you what he likes?"

Shelagh smoothed a non-existent wrinkle from the clingy fabric of the skirt. "Doctor Turner and I don't really talk much about clothes."

Trixie thought of the doctor's shapeless jumpers, all in different hues of sadness, and knew that was probably true. "Still, he's a man, Shelagh. Men may lack the vocabulary to communicate what they want their wives to wear, but they know what they like when they see it. And he'll definitely like this skirt."

"I don't know." Shelagh turned around so she could look at herself in the mirror. Two small folds appeared between her eyebrows. "It is awfully…"  
"It shows you have a waist and legs, if that's what you mean," Trixie said.

"Maybe try on something different? Something that isn't so tight?" Cynthia suggested, and pulled a green dress from the pile of clothes that Trixie had selected. Shelagh flashed her a grateful smile before retreating into the fitting room.

"I hope she won't think everything too inappropriate," Trixie mumbled. She felt a small stab of worry. What if this entire trip was going to be one big failure? What if she wasn't helping a friend, like she had imagined she was, but only made her uncomfortable?

"We should just give her a bit of time," Cynthia decided, and gave Trixie's hand a small squeeze. "We all need a bit of time to get used to changes."

X

In the end, Shelagh bought the green dress Cynthia had handed her, as well as a soft blue sweater that Trixie assured her would make her eyes sparkle. They were not exactly the highly fashionable outfits Trixie had hoped to find for her friend, but they were considerably better than those oversized suits in earth-tones. Trixie should be proud; she had made sure that Shelagh wouldn't dress like an old woman, but like the blushing bride she was.

Why, then, did she feel a small tug behind her breastbone as Doctor Turner came to pick his wife up, and kissed her softly on the cheek? Why did her eyes feel both moist and burningly dry as she noted the adoration she saw on the lined doctor's face when he looked at his wife? Why was her own smile tight, whereas Shelagh's smile for her husband was sweet and soft and sincere?

She felt strangely out of sorts when the Turners thanked them, and declined the doctor's offer to drive them back to Nonnatus. It was a pretty day, after all, and the walking wouldn't do them any harm.

Trixie quickly turned away as Doctor Turner steered his wife towards the car, one of his hands on the small of her back, and hid the pain the vicious pull on her heartstrings caused her by plastering a smile on her face. _Stop it,_ she told herself. _Don't dwell on these feelings. Don't think about it. Just act bubbly and cheerful and it will go away._ Never one not to take her own advice, Trixie tried to be extra upbeat as she and Cynthia made their way back to Nonnatus.

"Shelagh and Doctor Turner looked really happy," Cynthia noted during a lull in their conversation.

"Yes," Trixie said. It sounded curt, almost sharp. _Stop it,_ she admonished herself once again. "Doctor Turner doesn't look so tired all the time anymore. And I think that Shelagh has managed to get rid of the ugliest of his ties, so that's something, I suppose," she chirped. It sounded fake.

Cynthia stopped walking and knitted her eyebrows. She placed a small hand on Trixie's arm.

"Trixie, are you alright?"

 _Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry…_

She couldn't help it. She grabbed a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed her eyes, praying that her mascara wouldn't run. The last thing she needed was looking like a panda. "I'm just being silly," she sniffed.

"Trixie, your emotions aren't silly," Cynthia said, and rubbed reassuring patterns on Trixie's arm with her thumb.

"It's just that… I thought at first that the entire Doctor Turner and Sister Bernadette thing was just romantic, like the stuff from novels and films. But now that I've seen them together these past few months, I know that that's not true. Oh, there's romance, alright, but they seem so… I can't describe it, not really. They share something very profound, and it's made me aware that I've never had something like it. And sometimes, I fear that I never will." She took a deep, shaky breath. "It's not that I'm not happy for them," she added, suddenly afraid that she would seem jealous or spiteful.

"It's just that you are unhappy that you are not that happy yourself?" Cynthia asked.

Trixie felt her throat get thick and swallowed heavily. "Yes," she whispered. "The truth is that I'm just a little bit lonely, sometimes."

Cynthia hooked her arm through Trixie's and sighed. "It's alright to feel like that, Trixie. I promise you this, though: one day, you'll be just as happy as they are," she said, and gave her friend's arm a soft squeeze.

"And in the meantime, I have you," she said, and hugged the tiny nurse close to her.

X

There were four things that Trixie Franklin took pride in.

The first was her skill as a nurse and midwife.

The second was her ability to dance a mean tango.

The third was her inner compass that always pointed to the right dress, the right shoes.

The fourth was the possibilities for relationships she could see blossom between people before they themselves knew.

Four things to be proud of.

There was one thing to be happy with, though: the unwavering support of her friends.

 _I'll be alright,_ Trixie thought, and knew it to be true. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day, she would. In the meantime, she had her friends.


End file.
